"That is your passport, sahib! Show it to a Hill-man whenever you
suppose yourself in danger. The Raj might go to pieces, but while
Yasmini lives--"

"Her friends will boast about her, I suppose!"

King finished the sentence for him because it is considered good
form for natives to hint at possible dissolution of the Anglo-Indian
Government. Everybody knows that the British will not govern India
forever, but the British--who know it best of all, and work to that
end most fervently--are the only ones encouraged to talk about it.

For a few minutes after that Rewa Gunga held his peace, while the
carriage swayed at breakneck speed through the swarming streets.
They had to drive slower in the Chandni Chowk, for the ancient
Street of the Silversmiths that is now the mart of Delhi was ablaze
with crude colors, and was thronged with more people than ever since
'57. There were a thousand signs worth studying by a man who could
read them.

King, watching and saying nothing, reached the conclusion that Delhi
was in hand--excited undoubtedly, more than a bit bewildered, watchful,
but in hand. Without exactly knowing how he did it, he grew aware
of a certain confidence that underlay the surface fuss. After that
the sea of changing patterns and raised voices ceased to have any
particular interest for him and he lay back against the cushions
to pay stricter attention to his own immediate affairs.

He did not believe for a second the lame explanation Yasmini had